Nothing Else Matters
by emebalia
Summary: Ten year old Dean gets kidnapped. He escapes. End of story? Of course it's a little more complicated than that. *COMPLETE*
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, I'm just playing with Kripke's toys.

**Spoilers:** Mention of events from "Something Wicked"

**Summery: **Ten year old Dean gets kidnapped. He escapes. End of story? Of course it's a little more complicated than that.

**Nothing Else Matters**

With a sigh Dean slipped deeper under the covers. Half asleep he inhaled the heavy scent of sweat and aftershave. The scent that was dad. When his dad went on a hunt Dean liked to sleep in his bed seeking comfort from that familiar smell. Usually with the heat of a furnace which goes by the name of Sammy pressed into his side. Not today.

Dean was alone in the bed. Did his little brother got up early? And he didn't nag for breakfast yet? _Must be my birthday or something_, Dean thought. Ignoring the outside world for a few minutes longer Dean curled up under the covers. As long as Sammy was silent – probably with his nose buried into a book, since that little brat could read Dean hadn't seen his face very often – he could pretend to be still asleep.

Drifting away his mind wandered. Had dad picked a new aftershave? Becoming more awake Dean frowned. When had dad left? Hadn't they been in the car? Great, he sighed. He must have fallen asleep in the car and his dad had carried him inside. Just thinking of that humiliation made Dean blush. He was ten. A big boy. Sammy could be carried around but not him. Besides after what happened a few month back in Fort Douglas dad would most likely just shake him till he woke up so Dean could walk in on his own. Even if his dad had carried him inside why was he not in his own bed?

Something was wrong.

Peeking out from under the sheets Dean looked around. The room was dim the only light came from the ajar door of the bathroom but he would recognize a random motel room even in the dark. This one he had never seen before but that didn't bother him. What bothered him was that he couldn't see his dad or Sammy for that matter – book in his face or otherwise.

However, there was a second bed and it was occupied.

"Dad?" Dean sat up and took a better look around. The man didn't answer which was probably good because he was definitely not his dad. Face down into the pillow Dean could only see his bare back, broad shoulders and a blood soaked dressing on his left upper arm.

Without a noise Dean slipped out of the bed. That was when he noticed that he was wearing a way to big t-shirt and nothing else. His mouth went dry. Staying in the places they stayed his father had made sure Dean was aware of the human monsters out there. The ones who prey on little boys.

_I've been kidnapped._ Panic raised in his stomach and he just stood there. Frozen like a damn deer in the headlight. Sammy. That thought kicked him into action. Did that bastard get Sammy too?

Dean wanted to call for his brother but he bit his lip to keep himself quiet. There was no sign of Sammy – the room wasn't big enough to hide somebody not even someone of the size of a six-year-old – so hopefully he was still with their dad.

Watching for a sign that the guy in the bed woke up Dean made his way backwards to the door. Not looking where he set his feet he stumbled over some boots. A second pair of boots. Shit. The guy wasn't alone. His eyes darted to the bathroom. Had the door been that open before? Dean couldn't remember. From this angle he saw the mirror and in that the reflection of the second guy. At least he saw part of his arm and shoulder and Dean had no intention to wait till he could see more.

When his back made contact with the door nob Dean yelped in surprise and covered his mouth with his hand. Long seconds ticked by but nobody came out of the bathroom and the man in the bed was still fast asleep. For kidnappers they were just stupid.

Dean stepped out of the door. The parking lot was full with cars and for a second he hoped beyond hope to see the familiar lines of the Impala but the car wasn't there.

It was still early – in the east Dean saw the first hints of dawn – and the motel was quiet. According to all the cars it had to be full to the last lumber-room but apparently Dean was the only early riser. Accept for the guy in the bathroom so Dean closed the door behind him and ran across the parking lot. Gravel bit into his bare feet but he didn't stop running till he reached the line of bushes on the other side. Panting he covered behind the branches and looked back. The lot was still empty and the door still closed. Room twenty-seven. From his point of view Dean could read the sign at the street. "Sunny Side Motel" with a flickering "No Vacancy" beneath it.

"My dad will kick your asses, idiots." Dean promised before he turned around and kept going. He had to move, as soon as they noticed he was gone they would come after him. And this was the most likely direction, he knew that. But only wearing a t-shirt he couldn't use the street. Somebody would notice him and then it would be the police and everything. No, better stay out of sight and let dad handle those assholes, Dean thought with a grim smile.

The motel turned out to be in the outskirts of a small town. After an hour of walking through empty fields and past abandoned factories, Dean's feet hurt and he was shivering in his t-shirt. The sun was up now but it was still chilly.

"I need a phone." That was number one on his priority list. "But some pants would be awesome, too." He muttered. And shoes. He didn't dare to look but he was pretty sure he had a bleeding cut or two on his feet. Thinking of it, he wasn't hurt anywhere else. And hell if he knew how they got him. Maybe drugged him somehow.

Finally the landscape changed and he reached some nice houses.

"Jason, hurry up." A woman yelled. "We are late already. If I show up late again at work my boss will have a word with me."

Hiding behind a tree Dean observed the driveway. Already half inside the car the woman was waiting for her son who just closed the front door of their nice normal house. Glancing down the street Dean saw house after house all looking the same, like clones. Dean knew that monsters were real but this was his definition of creepy. Who in his right mind would live here on his own will?  
>From his hiding spot he watched the boy – he was about Dean's age – settling in the car a backpack between his knees. Off to school, Dean guessed. There was no other car in the driveway which meant the house was probably empty.<p>

Dean waited till the car disappeared in the distance, then he made his way to the back of the house over the nicely trimmed lawn. The back door wasn't really a challenge and seconds later Dean stood in the kitchen. Dirty dishes in the sink and the smell of pancakes still in the air. Dean's mouth watered but that had to wait. He made a quick round through the house to make sure it was empty. One door upstairs announced in colorful letters "Jason's Room". Dean slipped inside and went through the closet. The clothes were a bit to big for him, however, everything was better than that t-shirt. Before he could put on socks he had to clean his feet. Thank god, the cuts turned out to be just scratches only one still oozing some blood so Dean put a band-aid on it. Carefully he put on the socks and shoes and made some experimental steps. It was a bit uncomfortable but it didn't hurt that much. He could run if he had to.

After he got dressed Dean took a look around in Jason's room. That Jason kid had some fancy toys, his parents had to be rich or something, so Dean had no pang of conscience when he robbed the boy's piggy bank.

Dean was proper dressed and he had some money in his pocket, things were finally looking up.

Back in the kitchen he found the phone but hesitated for a minute. The last thing he remembered had been being in the Impala. They had been on their way to dad's next hunt. So Dean had no number he could call to reach his dad.

Chewing on his bottom lip Dean stood there for a moment and then dealt one of the few numbers he knew by heart. After a few rings the phone was answered.

Dean let out a sigh of relieve before he said: "Uncle Bobby?"

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

"Who's this?"

"It's me, Uncle Bobby." Dean couldn't quite hide the shake in his voice.

"Who is me?" Came the rough respond in Uncle Bobby's best don't-mess-with-me-voice. Though, there was no recognition in his tone. Dean gripped the phone tighter and pressed it against his ear.

"Dean." He finally squeaked out. "Dean Winchester, sir." _Please help me, please._

There was silence for a moment and Dean already thought he had hung up. But then Bobby spoke again. "Dean, is that you?"

"Yes, Uncle Bobby. It's me." Now he couldn't stop the tears any longer. Clinging to the phone like it was a lifeline Dean let out the sobs he had denied himself for the last hours.

"It's okay, boy."Uncle Bobby reassured him, his voice was now full of affection and worry. "Just tell me what happened."

Dean wiped his nose with the too long sleeve. "I got kidnapped but I escaped." He couldn't help to feel proud of the last part. "But I don't now where dad is and I … I lost Sammy." The last words came out as a hoarse whisper. Dean bit his inner cheeks to stop himself from crying like a frigging girl.

"We will sort this out." Bobby promised and Dean believed him. "Are you somewhere safe?"

"I..." Dean had to clear his throat. "I broke into a house. I don't think anybody will be home for a while."

"That's good. You did good." Just hearing Uncle Bobby's voice was enough to give Dean hope. Everything would be fine. "Now tell me exactly what happened."

"Yes, sir." Dean told him everything, beginning with him falling asleep in the Impala. "And then I called you." He finished. On the other end of the line he could hear Bobby thinking.

"The injured man, what did he look like?"

"I couldn't see his face." Dean tried to remember anything special about that man.

"His hair. Was it short and spiky or more overdue for a haircut?"

"Overdue for a haircut by at least three years."

"Tall kid in his early twenties?" Bobby sounded a little stressed now.

"Yeah? Do you know him?"

"Was he alive?" He asked instead of an answer.

"Think so." Dean shrugged. For all he cared the bastard could die in his sleep. Might be better for him too, because his dad would pummel him into next week as soon as he got his hands on him.

"Good." Maybe Bobby wanted him alive to have a word with him, too. Dean grinned at that thought. That guy was so dead. "Sunny Side Motel?" Bobby repeated the name.

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know which town?"

"No, sir. Sorry." Dean mentally kicked himself. There must have been a sign near the motel but the thought of looking for it never crossed his mind.

"No problem. Look around, is there a newspaper or some mail laying around?"

On a side-table Dean found some letters.

"OK, listen, boy." Bobby said after he had written down the address. "I've to make a call or two. Are you safe where you are?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I told you, the house is empty for at least a couple of hours. I can slip out of the back door if I have to."

"Back to smart mouth, are we?" Dean could hear the smile in his voice. "Stay put and call me back in about ten minutes, can you do that?"

"I'm ten, I can read the clock."

Another moment of silence. "Yeah, you're a big boy. Ten minutes." With that he hung up. Dean looked at the phone and let out another sigh. With the familiar voice gone he felt lonely. But Uncle Bobby knew where he was and was working on a solution. Everything would be fine soon.

While he waited Dean could probably do something useful. He looked around. He was in a kitchen which meant two things: food and weapons.

A minute later he sat at the kitchen table stuffing himself with leftover pancakes and had the biggest knife he could find within easy reach.

When Dean called him back, Uncle Bobby answered the phone after the first ring.

"How are you doing?" Was the first thing he asked.

"I'd love to get outa here." Dean had kept an eye out but the street remained empty. His kidnappers were out there searching for him, that was for sure.

"I checked your location and I'm on my way in a second but I'm three days out." Bobby paused while the information sunk into Dean's mind.

Shit. He couldn't stay in town for three days, they would get him. "I can hitchhike, meet you somewhere in the middle." He wasn't fond of that idea especially since he didn't now where his family was. What if his dad was already in town searching for him? And, you know, human monsters, police and all that stuff.

"No, Dean. No." Uncle Bobby interrupted his thoughts. Dean could hear him taking a deep breath to speak but he didn't say anything.

"Uncle Bobby?" Something felt wrong. What was it that he didn't tell him?

"Dean, you trust me, right?" Uncle Bobby finally said.

"Of course I do."

"The man you saw in the bed." He began but stopped searching for words. "I know him. I called him. He's on his way to pick you up."

"What?" Dean nearly dropped the phone. "But … why?" Dean's eyes darted towards the back door. He could run, hide under some bushes.

"Dean, please. Listen to me. He's a friend of mine. Your dad knows him too. It's okay." He was pleading but the words washed over Dean's mind. Uncle Bobby had sold him out. How could he do that? Why? He trusted him.

"Dean?"

"I'm here." He had the knife in his fist.

"Just trust me. Please?" Uncle Bobby begged. "He didn't kidnap you and he will not hurt you. I promise. I'd never allow somebody to hurt you. You know that, right?"

Dean shifted from one foot to the other. His instincts told him to run. But this was Uncle Bobby. He wouldn't lie to him, right?

Then another thought crossed his mind. Fort Douglas. That thing had almost killed Sammy. Because Dean hadn't watched out for Sammy. Because Dean hadn't done his job. The way his dad looked at him since that night.

"Did ..." His voice broke. He was afraid to ask but he needed to know. "Did dad gave me away?"

"What? No!" Bobby yelled in honest surprise. "Dean, your daddy loves you. I know he was never really good in showing it but he loves you. He would never give you away. He'd die to keep you safe."

"Really?" His voice was small but for the moment he didn't care.

"Really." Bobby took a deep breath. "Dean, please? Will you stay with this friend of mine? He can explain everything to you. And I'm on my way, I'll be there in three days."

Dean chewed his bottom lip. "Okay, Uncle Bobby."

His dad had left him and Sammy with almost strangers before but never in a cloak-and-dagger operation like this. And Dean had always known where Sammy was.

So when he heard the rumble of a car outside he made his way through the back door and circled around. He hold the knife pressed to his leg, in hand but out of sight for nosy neighbors.

Then the car parked in front came in sight and Dean stopped dead. There stood the Impala, black and shiny in the early sun.

For a second Dean hoped to see his father but the man getting out of the car was definitely not his dad. He looked around and spotted Dean at the corner of the house. A smile crossed his sweaty face.

"Dean." Was all he said and it seemed to cost him a lot of energy. Wary Dean stepped closer. The man looked sick. Sweaty hair was plastered to his forehead and he leaned into the car as if he needed the support to stay upright. Dean could outrun him anytime.

"Where did you get the car?" Dean reached the passenger side and peeked inside but kept an eye on the guy. No Sammy inside and Dean wasn't sure if it was a good or a bad sign.

"Your dad." He wanted to say more but he simply had no breath for more words. "Please, come with me." The speaking sucked the last energy from him and the man slummed into the driver's seat.

"Dude, you sure you can drive?" Dean still had no idea what was going on but this guy meant no danger. He climbed into the familiar passenger seat. "Maybe you should have let your partner drive."

The man didn't answer. Slowly they made their way back to the motel. The white-knuckled death grip on the wheel and the constant blinking told Dean to not pester him with questions. He was happy the guy managed to keep his eyes open long enough to reach the motel without crashing. The lot was still full and they parked on the side. Maybe in the exact spot where the car had been when Dean had escaped.

At the motel door the man dropped the key and nearly face-planted next to it when he tried to pick it up. Shoving him into the wall to keep him upright, Dean got the key and let them in. With unsteady steps the man made his way straight towards his bed.

"Dean, please stay." Was the last he said before he dropped boneless into the mattress.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean stood in the open doorway, key in one hand and the knife still in the other.

"Mister?" He asked but the still form on the bed didn't answer. Okay, that one was out for the count but where was the other one? Dean looked around, the open door still in his back. Screw Bobby, if this was a trap he was out of here.

Two duffel bags, both zipped open with clothes hanging out, the second pair of boots next to the bed Dean had woken up in. Papers on the table and two mugs near the coffee maker in the kitchenette. And the bathroom door was still ajar. From his point of view Dean caught the reflection in the mirror again, just a hint of a shoulder and one arm. Why was the guy still in there? He must have heard them coming in.

"Hello?" Dean made a step farther into the room. "Sir, you in there?" No answer. Dean dropped the key on the table and used his now free hand to swing the door open. Knife ready he scanned the small room. And felt incredibly stupid.

The room was empty. What Dean had seen was a jacket somebody had hung in the shower to dry. It was still dripping slightly pink drops into the tray. Looking closer Dean spotted stains of blood on the fabric. There was a bloody towel in the trashcan too. The metal smell of blood hung heavy in the air so Dean opened the window and returned to the main room. He shut the front door and then stood in the middle of the room with no idea what to do next. The man in the bed hadn't moved and except for his belongings there was no sign of his partner.

"I don't even know your name." Dean muttered. Even in broad daylight the man's face didn't look familiar. If this was a friend of his dad or Bobby Dean had never seen him before.

"You don't mind if I take a look around, don't you?" The guy didn't answer and Dean took that as a permission to sniff around. No note or anything that gave him a clue, the papers on the table were stuff for a hunt – his dad left similar messes when he tried to figure out a case – so Dean let them be for the moment and dug into the nearest bag instead.

Mostly he found clothes in various states from clean to dirty, a half-full bottle of whiskey, bits and pieces of a life on the road and hidden on the bottom some magazines with naked Asian women. Blushing he stuffed the mags back where he had found them. And if he had looked just for a few minutes, there was nobody here calling him on it, right? With a quick glance he made sure the guy was still asleep.

The other bag contained no whiskey or naked women but an electronic gadget Dean had never seen before. He could open it and one part had a keyboard just like a typewriter but what it was or did he had no idea. Carefully he set it aside, it looked rather expensive and he had no intention to brake anything.

And then – tucked at the side between dirty shirts – he found his dad's journal. Speechless Dean hold it for a minute not sure if it was real or not. It looked like his dad's. The leather was more worn and it was definitely thicker than he remembered, however when he opened it he recognized his dad's handwriting. The things in the front and the first pages were familiar, too.

"Where did you get this?" Dean screamed at the guy but he didn't even twitch. "Dad doesn't go anywhere without this." This time the man frowned and mumbled something but didn't wake up.

Frustrated Dean sat on the other bed. It would be awesome if somebody would give him an explanation, he thought. But from the guy he couldn't expect anything in the near future, Bobby was on the road so no way to contact him either and nobody had bothered to tell him where his dad was. Or Sammy. Thinking of his little brother Dean curled up on the bed, the journal pressed against his chest, and let out the tears burning in his eyes.

After a few minutes he wiped the tears from his face and sat up. There was nobody there who could explain this situation to him so he had to figure it out by himself, right? At least he had something to do.

Chewing on his bottom lip Dean went over the facts he had. Uncle Bobby trusted this man – men? – and his dad had left Dean, the car and his journal with him but not Sammy. Why not Sammy? His little brother was his responsibility so why was he not with him? Because dad didn't trust him anymore? The image of that thing flashed through Dean's mind. The monster feeding on his little brother.

Dean shook his head to get the picture out of his mind. He had to figure this out. So, dad left the car and the journal, but something still felt wrong. Like something was missing in the picture. His eyes fell once again on the bags. Bags full of clothes.

"Where are my clothes?" He asked but didn't get an answer. He was pretty sure he had been fully dressed when he had fallen asleep in the Impala. However when he woke up he had been wearing only a too big t-shirt. That didn't make sense.

He searched the room again, looked even under the beds and in the cupboard, but didn't find his stuff. As a last resort he searched the bed. Under the covers he found three things and no answers. A silver ring, an amulet – a horned creature of some kind – and underwear a grown man would wear. Disgusted he dropped the underwear and shoved it under the bed with his foot. He put the jewelry on the night table where it was easy to spot, no need for getting in trouble for stealing.

More to detract himself from unpleasant thoughts Dean turned towards the papers on the table. And he had to admit, he was a little curious what this guy was hunting. And maybe it would give him some answers. He made himself comfortable and started reading.

Copies from newspaper articles, reports with official looking headers and crime scene pictures which Dean hastily turned over – a quick glance at the bloody mess was enough, thank you very much – but what really caught his eye was the newspaper buried beneath all that stuff.

_It's fak_e, he thought. _It has to be_. With numb fingers he turned the pages. There was the sports section and the side with the comics. It was a real newspaper. But the date on top didn't say 1989. It said 2006.

"Two-thousand-and-six." He let the number roll over his tongue. And in 2006 he would be – he turned the numbers in his head – twenty-seven. Slowly he turned his head towards the bed he had woken up in. The bed which smelled a little like his dad but not quite and where he had found the underwear big enough for an adult body which however would easily slip from his own hips.

"No way." He muttered to himself but the idea stuck in his head. Time travel?

The one thing he had learned at the age of four was that even the most unthinkable things were possible. Besides, it would explain a few things. "So what? I switched places with grown up me?" Spoken out loud it sounded even more ridiculous than in his head. But obviously his adult self wasn't here. Or did he get turned into a younger version of himself? Shouldn't he remember something like that?

One way or the other it seemed that he actually was in the year 2006 – the number still sounded like something out of a science fiction movie. And he hadn't seen a single robot yet. He glanced at the electronic gadget still laying on the floor. Maybe pushing the right button would turn it into a Transformer or something.

And Sammy, his little baby brother, would be … twenty-four. With wide eyes Dean stared at the tall – very tall – man in the bed. No way, that couldn't be.

Dean slipped from the chair and made his way over to the bed. Leaning closer he tried to find something familiar in the man's face. Heat radiated from his body and he reeked of sweat and illness.

"Sammy?" He asked with a small voice not sure if he wanted the guy to wake up or not. What if he wasn't Sammy? What if he was?

Suddenly music played. Dean jumped back with a shriek. With his heart racing in his chest and trembling hands he stood there and listened to the music trying to find out where it came from.

"What the hell?" He asked but the guy was still out. The music kept playing and now Dean noticed the guy's jacket was moving. Dean swallowed hard and with all the courage he could gather he sneaked his hand into the pocket. He found a small thingy softly vibrating in his hand. Maybe it was some kind of futuristic alarm clock?

Dean pushed a few buttons just to make it stop. He didn't expect to hear Uncle Bobby's voice coming out of it.

"Sam, did you find that brother of yours?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Sam, did you find that brother of yours?"

Dean dropped the thing in surprise.

"Sam?" Came Uncle Bobby's voice out of it. Carefully Dean picked it up again.

"Uncle Bobby?" He asked, holding that tiny object only with his fingertips afraid to accidentally push a button and end this miracle.

"Dean, is that you?" In the background Dean could hear the sounds of being in a car. Was he driving?

"Yes, sir." The thing looked kinda like the ones Captain Kirk used on the _Enterprise_ and it seemed to work the same way. Cool, was the word in Dean's mind.

"Where is ..." Bobby stopped clearly searching for the right words.

"So he is Sam." Dean guessed looking at the sleeping man. "He is my little brother Sammy and this is the year 2006." If this was the future than Bobby was older too, right? Dean tried to imagine that. Maybe his beard had turned white and with all that beer he probably would have developed quite a belly. And suddenly he had the very disturbing picture of some kind of Santa Clause in his mind. With a trucker's hat.

"Yeah." Dean could hear his relief. "So he explained it to you."

Dean snorted. "No, I had to figure it out myself. We were lucky he stayed awake till he could collapse on the bed. Nearly crashed us on the way back."

"Just a cut, my ass." Bobby swore. "That idjit got bitten, didn't he?"

There was silence for a moment while Dean tried to make sense out of Bobby's last words.

"Uncle Bobby?" Dean asked when the man didn't continue. "What happened? What bit Sammy?" Looking at the tall man it seemed ridiculous to call him Sammy. How could a midget like his little brother grow that tall? If this was really his Sammy.

"I'm not exactly sure." Bobby admitted. "That brother of yours hasn't been much of a talker when I spoke to him earlier. Thought it was because he was worried about you." He stopped again and Dean only heard him breathing.

"You know there are monsters out there, right Dean?" Uncle Bobby asked wary.

"Yes, sir." Dean suppressed a snort. Of course he knew about the things in the dark. The image of one specific monster hovering over his brother was still present in his mind.

"Sure." Bobby let out another sigh. "You two were on a hunt and that thing jumped you."

Dean frowned. "We were on a hunt? Alone? Where is dad?" His dad would never let them go on a hunt by themselves.

"Sam identified it as a Quetzalcoatl." Bobby said instead of an answer.

"A what?" That sounded like some leftovers from Scrabble nobody could form a word with. Well, apparently Sam could. That kid was to smart for his own good.

"It's basically a giant snake with feathers. Feeds off children." A pause. "Lore says, if it can't find any children it can turn adults into kids. Yesterday I would have said that part is a myth." Bobby paused again while his words sank into Dean's mind. Bobby hadn't just said what Dean thought he had said, right?

"What are you trying to tell me?" He asked with a suddenly dry mouth. Time travel he could life with, it was kinda cool, but this? "That I'm not really a kid anymore?"

"Hey boy, the last time I saw you you had to shave regularly." Was his not quite helping respond. "Look, we'll sort this out when I get to you but now I'm more worried about Sam."

Right, Sammy got bitten. By a snake. A giant, feathered, supernatural mother of a snake.

"He isn't going to die, isn't he?" Leaning over his still sleeping – unconscious? – brother Dean felt the heat of his skin and the little hot puffs of his breathing.

"No, no. He'll be fine." _I hope_, Dean could hear the unspoken words. "The poison is supposed to kill little … Adults are normally sick for a few days, nothing more."

_Normally_, Dean thought. That had the bitter taste of _sometimes not_.

"Sam is a big guy, strong and healthy." Bobby continued as if he was reading Dean's mind.

"So, what can I do for him?" Dean asked. Seeing his little brother suffer – when exactly did he accept this giant as his little brother? – wrenched his guts.

"Let him sleep it off." Bobby suggested. "Make him as comfortable as possible and he'll need plenty of water to wash the poison out of his system. Maybe some painkillers but he should be able to tell you what he needs soon." Bobby didn't clarify _soon_ and Dean didn't ask. "Can you do that?"

"Yes, sir." _Look out for Sammy_, he heard his dad's voice whisper in his head. He could do that, had done it all his life.

"And Dean?"

"Yes?"

"If he gets worse and you can't handle it on your own, don't hesitate and call 911. Tell them he's your dad and got bitten by a snake."

Dean nodded and then remembered that Bobby couldn't see him. "Yes, sir."

"I know this is a lot to take in." His tone changed into something Dean would like to hear from his dad. But even before … his dad wasn't a man who showed his feelings. "You're doing good, Dean. I'm proud of you."

Dean felt his eyes brimming with tears and he had to swallow hard to clear his throat. For a moment he couldn't speak but Bobby didn't expect an answer.

"Alright, son. I'll call you again when I stop for the night but you can call me anytime if you need something." He gave Dean a quick instruction how to use the miracle called cell phone and then they ended the call. With Bobby's voice gone the room seemed oddly quiet.

… _feeds off children … can turn adults into kids … you had to shave regularly …_

The words swirled through his head. Dean didn't feel different. He didn't feel like something was wrong with him. If he had been grown up yesterday shouldn't he remember something?

A moan startled him out of his thoughts. Sam shifted on the bed but didn't open his eyes. After a moment he lay still again.

Dean shoved all disturbing thoughts deep down his mind and concentrated on the task at hand: Getting Sammy comfortable.

Taking off the unlaced shoes was easy, wrestling him out of his jacket not really but Dean got it off eventually. Beneath that Sam wore only a t-shirt – inside out – which gave Dean a good view of the dressing covering the wound on his arm. He noticed two red spots on the fabric but it wasn't bleeding anymore.

His own blanket was pinned under Sam so Dean got the one from the other bed to cover him up. After tucking him in – his bare feet were still sticking out and that was just so wrong – Dean stepped back.

"Okay, what's next?" He mumbled to himself. Water, Sam had to drink a lot. Seconds later he came back from the bathroom with a glass of water in one hand and a washcloth in the other. Still unconscious Sam was in no state to drink so Dean put the glass in easy reach on the night table.

Then he stood there not sure how to do what he wanted to do. Sam's face was covered with sweat and the cool water would comfort him and maybe take his temperature down a bit but this wasn't his little Sammy. This was a grown man with stubble on his face.

Water dripped from the washcloth on the floor and Dean still stood there. Another moan escaped Sam's lips and it sounded like _Dean_ or maybe not but it was enough to bring Dean into action.

"Shh, Sammy." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "I'm here. It's okay, I'm here." Gently he wiped the sweat from Sam's forehead. The harsh lines of pain eased a bit and Sam let out a soft sigh. His eyelids flattered but his eyes didn't stay open.

"Here, you have to drink." With his help Sam managed to drink half of the water before he fall back into the pillow.

For the next hours Sam drifted in and out. Every time he came halfway through Dean was there to feed him water. Dean had found the first aid kit and had the painkillers ready but Sam never woke up enough to actually take some.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed pondering if he could risk a short trip to the vending machine he had seen outside. He was starving but he didn't dare to leave Sam alone, not even for a few minutes. Bad things could happen in a few minutes.

"D'n?" Sam shifted, his face buried in the pillow.

"I'm here." He reached for the water. This time Sam seemed to be more awake than before.

"Fever dreams suck." His voice was a rough whisper through the pillow. "Had a weird dream."

"Yeah, me too." Dean wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.

"Dreamed you were a kid again." Sam cracked his eyes open and it took him a moment to focus on Dean. "Oh my god."


	5. Chapter 5

"Dreamed you were a kid again." Sam said and Dean fought the urge to look away. Instead he hold his gaze till Sam's eyes focused on him. "Oh my god."

"That sums it up." Dean tried a reassuring smile. Sam propped himself up on one elbow but he had to fight to not collapse back into the pillow.

"Dean?" He squinted with watering eyes, disbelief clearly on his face.

Dean just nodded. "And you are Sammy, right?" He heard the pleading in his voice but he had to know. He had guessed this much and Bobby had confirmed it, however, he had to hear it out of this strangers mouth.

"Crap." Sam said instead. Whole body shaking he had trouble to hold his head up. Seeing him in real danger of falling out of the bed Dean reached out and with a gentle push Sam fell on his back. Panting he just lay there, his hair plastered to his forehead and sweat glistering on his face. For a second Dean was sure he would just pass out again.

"You are Sammy, right?" Dean repeated his question. _Please say yes, please say yes._

"Yeah." Came the weak response. "I'm Sammy." _Thank god._ Sam opened his eyes as if he hoped to see something else than ten year old Dean. Rubbing a hand down his face – sweat and lines of pain still prominent – he let out a sigh.

"Are you …?" He started and broke up. By running out of words or air Dean couldn't tell. "Do you remember … I mean …" He struggled to turn his head far enough to face Dean.

"Uncle Bobby said that thing turned me." Dean had an idea what Sam was trying to ask. "That I've been grown up but I don't remember." He shrugged. "I'd been sure this is the year '89 till I saw the date on the newspaper."

"Crap." Sam repeated. His harsh breathing was the only sound in the room for long minutes.

"You want some water?" Dean asked and reached for the painkillers. He shook the bottle just to make a sound to fill the silence. "Maybe you should take some."

Most of the water ran down Sam's chin but he managed to wash down two pills. Exhausted he lay back. When his eyes fell shut they stayed shut.

Dean let out a frustrated growl. His stomach made a similar sound reminding him that he was starving. There were so many questions he'd like to ask but with the painkillers Sam would probably sleep for a few hours straight. Fingering the money in his pocket Dean made a decision.

"Just a minute." He reassured himself. "I'll be out for only a minute." He grabbed the key and with one last look at his sleeping brother Dean opened the door.

The vending machine wasn't far Dean however ran the short distance. Maybe Sam was a giant now but he was helpless in his condition. Meanwhile he heard his dad's voice in his head lecturing him for making the same mistake twice.

The motel was booked out so it was hardly a surprise to find the vending machine raided. The only things left were a candy bar with a brand name Dean had never seen before and a small package of peanuts. Dean took both and sprinted back to the room.

He half expected to find a monster hovering over his brother or that Sam had stopped breathing or anything in between. When he entered the room everything was like he had left it. Sam was softly snoring on the bed where he was supposed to be and there was no monster in sight. With a sigh Dean dropped on the other bed and ripped the candy bar open. One bite told him why this was the last favorite candy in the machine. But his stomach was growling and he forced the sticky stuff down. The peanuts were even worse – rank and too salty – but he washed them down with a glass of water.

After averting the immediate danger of starvation Dean had nothing else to do than to watch his brother sleep. Brother, it still sounded strange. Dean was tempted to turn the TV on but he was afraid to wake Sam up. His sleep was uneasy at best, already tangled up in the blanket and painful moans on his lips. Again Dean tried to easy the pain with a cold washcloth and it seemed to help. Sam fell into a more restful sleep but his face kept flushed and he radiated heat like a furnace.

"You are a pain in the ass, you know that?" Dean put the cloth on the nightstand. Looking at the for now relaxed face he tried once again to find the familiar outlines of his little brother. "And I hope for your sake that I'll be still taller when I'm grown up."

"You wish." Came the weak respond. His eyes still closed Sam cracked a smile.

"Damn." Dean hung his head theatrical. "Water?"

"Bathroom." He swung his legs out of the bed and Dean stepped aside to give him some room to maneuver. For a while Sam just sat on the edge of the bed, his head cradled in his big hands. Then he set his jaw and pushed himself up. Dean was ready when he faltered. There was no way he could support such a tall man under the shoulder one arm wrapped around his own neck like he had seen his father doing – or on occasion his dad had been supported that way – but he could grab a belt loop and steady Sam at his waist. Sam didn't even argue and together they shuffled towards the bathroom.

"I got it from here." Sam announced between harsh breathes and Dean ducked out of the room with relief but stayed close to the door just in case. On the way back Sam had trouble lifting his feet and Dean felt him leaning into him farther with every step. That guy was heavy.

By the time Sam collapsed on the bed Dean was covered in sweat, too.

"Who allowed you to grow that big?" He muttered and tucked the blanket around his brother.

"You fed me too well." His voice was once again muffled by the pillow but he was still awake.

"I did?" This semi-conscious statement stirred something in his guts and not in a bad way.

Sam lifted his head and looked him straight in the eye. As straight as he could manage anyway.

"Dean, you practically raised me." He squinted but he wasn't finished. "You're there for me, always. If it hadn't been for you I'd be eaten by a snake by now. And I can't believe you are still here helping me. I must be a stranger to you." The last words came with pauses between them, Sam was losing the fight against exhaustion.

"You are Sammy, nothing else matters." Dean reached for the washcloth. It had to be refreshed but he needed something to keep his hands busy.

Sam just let him fiddling with the cloth for a minute. "I'm so sorry." His eyes fell shut and he winced in pain. "What it did to you … we'll figure this out."

"Did we at least kill that thing?" Dean asked but didn't expect an answer.

"No." It was barley a whisper. "Bobby brings weapons." And with that he was finally out.

Dean watched him for a minute and then started to look around for something to entertain himself. His eyes fell on the cell phone. His dad always made sure he knew his way around with the things he maybe had to use – weapons, the first aid kit, lock-picks, dad even taught him the basics in driving just in case – so he went through the instruction Uncle Bobby had given him till he knew it by heart. It took only a few buttons to find the right entry so that was done in a few minutes. Curious he skimmed the other entries. His eyes fell on "Dean" and he hesitated only a second before he pushed "call". Somewhere _Smoke on the Water_ started to play.

"I've my own cell phone." He had found it in a pocket of a jeans and now he was holding two of this little miracles in his hands. They looked different but they worked in kind of the same he quickly figured out. And his had "Sammy" on the list.

"So you are still Sammy and not Sam." He couldn't hold back a grin. Sammy had just recently started bitching about that nickname. _Good luck with that._

"Maybe I can call dad." With new enthusiasm Dean went through the list of names. There were a lot of unfamiliar ones – on his were a lot of girl names – but in neither phone he found "Dad" or "John" not even a "Winchester".

A cold fist wrenched his guts. Dad was fine, wasn't he? He had to be. Chewing his bottom lip Dean tried to remember what Uncle Bobby had said about his dad. Dean had assumed he was on a hunt but Bobby never confirmed that or did he?

Going through the lists in both phones again Dean realized there were other names missing, too. No "Pastor Jim" or "Caleb" for example and that made him breath a little easier. No way something had happened to all of them, right? Dean had no idea how common these cell phones were so maybe they just didn't own one.

"Next time you wake up we have to talk about where dad is." He promised towards the sleeping lump on the other bed. Sam didn't answer and slept peaceful for over an hour.

Then the seizures started.


	6. Chapter 6

When the seizures started Dean was at Sam's side in a heartbeat.

"Sam?" Dean stood at the side of the bed and had no idea what to do. Sam's whole body went rigid, the cords of the muscles in his throat stood out like steel wire. However, the worst thing was the sound Sammy was making. Not really a scream – you've to get your teeth apart to scream – more like grunting and panting.

After an eternity of a few seconds Sam suddenly went limp. He had his eyes closed and he was still panting.

"Sammy?" Dean reached for the washcloth and gently wiped the fresh sweat from his brother's forehead. His hand was trembling and he poked him in the eye once or twice but Sam didn't even twitch.

"Sammy, say something." His vision swam and he didn't care how pleading his voice sounded he just wanted for Sam to open his eyes and say that he was okay.

"D'n?" At least Sam blinked. He couldn't kept his eyes open but he tried.

"I'm here. I'm here." Dean grabbed his shoulder to let him know he was there or to clam himself down – he wasn't sure what – but Sam grunted in pain and went rigid again. It lasted only a few second but it was enough for Dean to know he was completely out of his league.

"Sammy, what shall I do?" He pleaded. "What am I supposed to do?" Sam didn't answer.

For a minute it seemed like it was over. His breathing evened out and the lines of pain on his face eased off a bit.

The next seizure build up slow. It started in his right leg and it looked like an ordinary cramp in the calf at first, then it spread till it covered Sam's whole body with his head thrashing against the headboard. All Dean could do was to try to protect Sam's head so he didn't get a concussion on top of this shit. When it was over Dean's arms felt like he had done a hundred chin-ups in a row. He stuffed the pillow from the other bed between Sam's head and the headboard not sure if it was enough but it had to do.

"Sam? I'm calling 911." It was only because of his still numb arms that Sam could beat him to the reach for the cell phone.

"No." It was barley a word. "Please." The phone slipped from Sam's fingers when the next wave hit him.

"You need an hospital." Dean blinked against the tears. He picked up the phone but didn't press the buttons. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the thing rang.

He fumbled till he found the right button his eyes never leaving Sam who was once again caught in a full body cramp.

"Uncle Bobby?" He screamed over the rattling of the bed.

"Dean? What happened?" Bobby answered instantly getting that something was wrong. Dean let out a sigh of relief. Uncle Bobby would know what to do, right? Everything was going to be okay.

"It's Sam." He clutched the phone with both hands to his ear. "He's having seizures. I don't know what to do. Help me, Uncle Bobby!"

"Balls!" Was the not helping answer. "Did you call 911?"

"He doesn't want me to."

Sam was limp for the moment but he struggled to keep his eyes open clearly listening in to the conversation.

"Bobby." Sam breathed the name. "No hospital. Can't … help anyway." He took a sharp breath. "Been there … research."

"What did he say?" Bobby asked. If Dean had to lean over Sam to understand him, no way Bobby could hear him through the phone.

"That he doesn't want an hospital and that they can't help him." Sam had grabbed his forearm and stared at him. "Been there, research." Dean repeated the words. "I've no idea what that means."

The grip around his arm tightened and Dean yelped more in surprise than in pain.

"Dean?" If Dean didn't know better he'd say Bobby sounded … terrified? "Talk to me, boy."

"I'm here." Dean breathed through the pain, the seizure lasted only a few seconds and as soon as he could Sam let go of him. He whispered something which sounded like "sorry". In the morning Dean would have an impressive imprint of Sam's hand on his arm but that was the last of his concerns.

"I'm only guessing here." Bobby spoke fast slurring the words. "But I think he wants to tell us that you two where undercover in the hospital already. Going back with a different background might be hard to explain."

_Hard to explain_ meant cops and CPS. Dean could almost hear his father's don't-draw-attention-and-stay-under-the-radar-speech. They had to deal with this by themselves. As always, no big deal. Dean closed his eyes and took a shaking breath.

"Uncle Bobby?" His voice was small and he hated himself for that weakness. "Is Sammy going to die?"

"No." Came the double answer, strong and sure through the phone and as a whisper from the bed. It was Bobby who continued. "Everybody I ever heard of who died from this poison died in the first few hours. Sam is way past that."

Fingers brushed against the abused skin of his arm but Dean got it as the reassurance it was meant. Despite the risk of getting his hand smashed he took the hand of his brother in his own and squeezed.

"Dean." Sam mouthed before his head snapped back with the next wave. Somehow he managed to keep the pressure on Dean's hand at a bearable level.

"I know it looks bad." Bobby said. "But he's to ride this out. There is not much you can do. Painkillers if he can take some and make sure he doesn't hurt himself. Monitor his breathing. If he gets any trouble with that you call 911. You hear me? No arguing. Can you do that, Dean?"

His voice was weary, like he wasn't sure if Dean could handle this. Like he wasn't sure if Dean could look after his little now ridiculous big brother. Was it because he had to put Sammy in the hands of a ten-year old or was it because it were Dean's hands? Had dad told him how badly Dean had screwed up last time?

Never again. Dean straightened. "Yes, sir." Clear instructions, orders he could work with that.

"You are doing great, son." The words washed warm over his mind. "I'll be there as soon as possible."

They ended the call and Dean had never felt that alone in his life.

"Thanks." Sam even tried to smile. "It's not that bad. Just let me …" He was cut off by another cramp in his legs.

"Just let you what?" Dean growled at him when he stopped grunting in pain. "Turn my back and let you deal with this alone? Not happening."

Once he had set his mind the rest was kinda easy. Dean gathered the things he needed – mainly water, painkillers and a fresh washcloth – and then climbed into the bed with his brother. Sam was caught between surprise, protest and another seizure and it was way to easy for Dean to batter away his hands when Sam tried to shove Dean out of the bed.

Dean made himself as comfortable as possible, back to the headboard and Sam's head against his chest. He would sport a few nasty bruises on his chest and belly the next day but this way he could keep Sammy from cracking his head open on the wooden headboard. It was going to be a long night.

The heavy seizures still rattled the whole bed but after nightfall the pauses between them lasted longer every time. However, after a really bad one somebody next door banged at the wall.

"Come already!" A man shouted through the thin walls and Dean cracked up laughing. It ended in an hysterical hiccup and Sam shot him a questioning look when he came around but for a moment it felt good.

It was way after midnight, Dean's whole body ached and his voice was hoarse from whispering into Sam's ear for hours, when the seizures died away to little jerks and twitches and then finally stopped. By the time it was over both of them had given in to exhaustion and where sound asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean woke up in steps. First he noticed that he was fully clothed and had somehow fallen asleep in a half sitting position but his head wasn't resting on the window of the Impala. Instead his head dangled in an awkward angle and moving it would hurt like a bitch so he left it for the moment. The second thing he noticed was that even breathing hurt. It felt like he had a sparring session – or ten – with his dad, sore muscles and stiff joints. However, the third thing he noticed was that he couldn't feel his legs.

Startled he opened his eyes. Moving his head hurt like he had thought it would, something in his spine crunched and he let out a grunt. But he froze when he looked at his legs. Or what he could see of them. Most of them was buried under the prone body of a man. The head and one arm hung out of the bed and he was snoring softly. Shaggy hair was all Dean saw of his face.

Dean hold his breath while he bit back the panic. His instincts told him to struggle free and run. However, the weight of the man had cut off the blood circulation in his legs so he would most likely just crash to the floor instead of heading towards the door.

Then the memories from the last day and more present of the last night hit him.

He had been turned into a kid again – he still felt nothing wrong – and Sam had been poisoned. Both caused by a giant feathered snake. He still hoped to get a chance to see that thing. It sounded cool except of the shrinking and poisoning parts, they sucked. Especially the poisoning.

"Sam?" He reached out and shook his brother at the shoulder. His shirt was clammy under Dean's hand and it stuck to Sam's body.

"Sam, wake up." His skin through the clothing felt warm but not like that heat he had been radiating the day before. So the fever finally broke. Sam mumbled something in his sleep but didn't wake up.

"Sam, move your heavy ass. You're crushing me here, man." Using both hands now he tried to roll Sam over but he was too heavy. _Great, like I'm buried under a dead horse._

Eventually Sam rolled over but didn't bother to open his eyes. For long minutes Dean just sat there while the blood returned into his legs. It felt like thousand needles torturing his flesh. He swung his legs out of the bed and when he felt steady enough he made his way to the bathroom.

His clothes smelled of sweat – his own and Sam's – but he had nothing to change into. At least he could take a shower. After he had locked the door he striped and examined the blooming bruises on his chest and belly where Sam's head had hit him during the seizures. The hot water would soothe the sore muscles, that was what helped him after the sparring sessions with his dad too. At least he hoped it would help. Right now he felt as old as everybody told him he was supposed to be.

Where Sam had grabbed his forearm Dean found a hand-shaped bruise, he could clearly make out the shape of the thumb and two fingers. This somehow made him smile. His little brother Sammy could probably wrap his fingers three times around Dean's wrist. And that was just so wrong.

By the time Dean came back to the main room Sam was awake. Half sitting, back against the headboard he mirrored Dean's position from last night.

"Hey." Sam said and he sounded still half asleep. But he looked much better now.

"Hey." Dean wasn't sure what to do next so he stood in the middle of the room, fingering the hem of his too big sweatshirt. Sam, however, looked at him as if he saw him for the first time.

Dean shifted from one foot to the other. "What?"

A smile ghosted over Sam's face. "You're so small. I can't remember you being ever that small. You've always been so big. Even when you really have been ten, you've always been my big brother I've looked up to."

Dean felt the blood rushing into his cheeks and he quickly looked down. The somewhat awkward silence was broken by a deep grumble.

"Was that yours or mine?" Sam asked and patted his own stomach. His movements were slow and Dean half expected him to doze off in mid-sentence.

"Mine." Dean admitted. Right now he would kill for another pack of rank peanuts.

Sam blinked a few times in slow motion, then pushed himself into a more sitting position. He fell boneless forward till his elbows were resting on his knees. "Give me a minute. There is a diner just down the street. I'll get us ..." Catching his breath he stopped. His head hung and he was sweating again.

Dean rolled his eyes. "You are not going anywhere. I'll go."

Sam shook his head, hesitated and then nodded. "OK. Give me my wallet."

He pressed a bundle of bills in Dean's hand and looked him straight in the eye. "Just dry toast and a soup for me." He said still holding Dean's hand in his own. "You get yourself whatever you want and enough of it. Don't think about the money, we have plenty." He had to stop again to take a deep breath but he was smiling. "I know the menu, the cheapest three dishes are out of question, you hear me? Or you take all three of them, at least. And bring yourself some pie."

Sam already had trouble keeping his eyes open but he hold his gaze till Dean nodded in agreement. Satisfied Sam collapsed back into the bed and Dean just wondered when Sam had figured out that money was an issue. The six-year-old Dean knew had now idea.

When Dean entered the diner the smell alone made his mouth water.

"What can I get you, sweetie?" An elderly waitress with gray hair and a motherly attitude leaned over the counter to take his order.

Dean looked at the menu and his eyes went automatically to the prices. The grilled cheese sandwich was the cheapest dish and normally he would choose that. Not that he actually liked it or anything. But then he felt the bundle of bills in his hand and the grumbling in his stomach. He licked his lips and then ordered the "Breakfast of the Champions". With an extra slice of blueberry pie. And he only felt a little bit guilty for that.

"Here you go, sweetie." With a warm smile she handed him two brown paper bags over the counter. When Dean reached up to take them the sleeves of his too big sweatshirt slipped up to his elbows.

"What happened to your arm?" Of course she noticed. He saw pity and all the wrong conclusions in her eyes.

"Nothing." Dean grabbed the bags and shook his arm so the sleeve slipped back down and covered his bruise again. His clearly hand-shaped bruise. Mentally kicking himself for that stupid mistake he gave her his best I'm-fine-smile and left the diner.

When Dean got back to the motel room Sam wasn't in his bed. Dean's heart stopped. _Oh, god. Please no, please. _The image of that thing hoovering over his helpless little brother was back. More livid than ever.

"Sam?" His voice was barley a whisper and there was no answer. "Sammy?" He tried again, louder this time. There was a noise from the bathroom.

"Sam, you in there?" Dean knocked at the door but when Sam still didn't answer he entered the room. Sam sat on the closed toilet seat leaning heavily against the wall. His hair hung wet in his face and he was only wearing a fresh pair of sweatpants and a sheepish grin. His arms were caught in a fight with a t-shirt which the shirt was clearly winning.

"Did you just took a shower?" Dean stated the obvious. "You could have slipped and cracked your stupid head open."

Somehow Sam managed to look just like the six-year-old Dean remembered. With an eye-roll Dean stepped up to help him with the t-shirt. Then he spotted it.

"You have a tattoo?" And it was a cool one. A pentagram with flames. "Dad allowed you to get a tatt?"

Sam cleared his throat before he answered. "Hey, I'm an adult. I can do what ever I want."

"Can I get one?" Dean asked besides the fact that he knew the answer. But a guy can hope, right?

"Actually, you, I mean adult you, already have one. One just like this." With his still caught in the fabric hands he gestured towards his chest.

"Matching tatts?" Dean frowned. "That's gay."

And Sam laughed. He threw his head back and laughed. It was the best sound Dean had heard since he had woken up in this nightmare.

After he got Sam properly dressed they made their way back to Sam's bed without any accidents. There were a few close calls – the shower had sucked every bit of energy out of Sam – but they made it.

However, Sam managed to eat most of his breakfast before he fall back into his pillow. Dean didn't even made it half-way through his "Breakfast of the Champions" but he ate the pie. He stored the leftovers in the little fridge for later.

He expected Sam to be fast asleep by now but his eyes were open, watching Dean.

"We'll fix this." Sam said. "We'll figure this out and we'll fix this."

Dean nodded. He still didn't feel that he needed to be fixed but he was in the wrong time after all. Suddenly he felt the urge to see his little Sammy again. And his dad. Which reminded him.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Where is dad?"


	8. Chapter 8

"Where is Dad?"

Sam didn't answer, didn't even look at Dean for a long minute and when he finally opened his mouth to say something, the phone rang. He let it ring three times before he picked up.

"Hey, Bobby." Sam said with fake enthusiasm and Dean's shoulders dropped. "Yeah, much better. We're good. Dean's a good nurse." There would be no answer. "No, just sore and exhausted, I could sleep for a week." He slurred the words like he was half asleep already.

After Sam would have ended the call, he would just pretend to fall asleep and the question would be forgotten, Dean was sure of that. Just like his dad. Dean never got the answers he wanted – he needed.

_Dad, could you help me with my homework?_

_Here, this knife needs to be sharpened._

_Dad, what if you don't come back?_

_Fix your brother dinner._

_Dad, do you love me?_

_Do your exercises._

Dean felt his eyes water but he blinked away the tears. Just suck it up, he told himself. Meanwhile Sam had ended the call and he was now resting against the headboard with his eyes closed; still way to pale with dark shadows under his eyes.

"Dean, come here." Sam patted the spot next to him and Dean needed a moment to realize that it was directed towards him. He hopped up the bed and Sam dragged him farther till they were sitting next to each other, Sam's arm around Dean's shoulder and Dean's head against Sam's chest.

"Where's Dad?" Dean repeated the question. "Is he on a hunt?" The way Sam had reacted to the question he knew his dad was not on a hunt but a part of him wanted to hear the lie. _Just tell me he's on a hunt_, he pleaded silently. _Just lie to me, please. Lie._

But Sam was too tiered to lie, too exhausted to cover the truth already clearly written on his face.

"No, he's not on a hunt." He answered and the grip around Dean's shoulder tightened. "Dad died a few month ago." With his free hand he stroked Dean's hair while small sobs were shaking his body.

Dean couldn't breath. Frozen he sat there and let Sam stroke his head. Something wet hit his cheek but it wasn't his tear.

"I'm sorry." Sam's voice was hoarse and his sobs vibrated through Dean's numb body.

It couldn't be. Dad was a superhero. He was invincible. He couldn't die. He couldn't be dead. He couldn't.

"Ho..." His voice broke. He hadn't enough air to speak.

Sam, however, understood his question. "It was a demon."

Sam hold him in his arms and somehow Dean was glad that Bobby had dodged the question when he had spoken to him on the phone earlier. Without his brother's strong arms around him he would probably just float off and drown. It felt like drowning.

Thinking of Bobby he remembered something.

"Was …" He had to clear his throat and he still choked on the words. "Was it my fault? Because I screwed up? Did Dad die because of me?"

"What?" Sam shot up. "No!" His big hand clawed into Dean's shoulder for a second while Sam turned him so they could look each other in the eye.

"It has not been not your fault." He said emphasizing every single word. "Why would you think that?"

Shocked by this outburst Dean only blinked up to him. Sam was looming over him – dark eyes under sweaty bangs, feverish red cheeks with tears streaming down – his little brother was a scary son of a bitch.

Dean couldn't hold his gaze and ducked, making himself smaller. "Uncle Bobby." He answered with a small voice. He took a deep breath or as deep as his tight chest allowed him to take. "Uncle Bobby said ..." He stopped again unable to bring out the words.

"What did he say?" A big hand under his chin made him look up. Now Sam only looked tired, worn out.

"He said … he said Dad would die for me." His eyes began to water.

"Oh, Dean." Sam's hand was warm on his face. "Of course he would. He would have died for you. He would have died for me." Sam paused for a moment. "That's what parents do. They love their kids and they would die to save them."

He slung his arm around Dean again and dragged him closer, his chin resting on Dean's head. Sam needed a shave but Dean welcomed the feeling of rough stubble against his skin, it reminded him of his dad.

"It has been the demon. There was nothing either of us could have done." His ear on Sam's chest Dean listened to his heartbeat. It was fast but reassuring, alive. Dean sneaked his arms around Sam, clinging to him and his heartbeat. "We'll turn you back and then you'll remember all the years with him. You loved hunting with him."

Dean tried to picture that but he couldn't. Every time he had begged to come along his dad had told him that he was too young. And somebody had to watch out for Sammy. But Sammy was a big boy now, an adult, all grown up. He didn't need Dean to watch out for him anymore. Icy fingers wrenched his guts at this thought.

"What if ..." He started and once again couldn't bring the words out.

"What if what?" Sam asked clearly fighting against falling asleep.

"What if I stay this way?" He asked his fists clinging to Sam's shirt. Sam wanted his big brother back. The man who was a partner on a hunt, the man who wasn't too young for literally everything, who could get injured without worries about CPS. Sam for sure didn't want to be responsible for a stupid little kid. "You don't need me anymore. I'm a burden. You should just leave me."

Suddenly Sam was wide awake. "No! Don't you ever say that. We are brothers. I won't leave you, I won't abandon you. I need you. I love you. No matter what." Sam sounded serious.

"Promise?" He dared to hope. Just a little bit.

"Promise."

Dean relaxed into Sam's side and by his breathing he could tell that his brother finally lost the fight against sleep. Dean, however, couldn't sleep, too many thoughts were running through his head but he stayed where he was, close to his brother.

Hours later the need to use the bathroom drove him off Sam's side and by the time Dean came back Sam had curled onto his side and snuggling time was officially over. Not that Dean wanted to snuggle or anything.

Suddenly the room was too small, the air too heavy with sweat and the smell of sickness. Gulping for air Dean sallied out of the room. He made it two steps out on the porch where he just stopped. No way he could leave Sam unprotected so he settled on the porch in front of their room and concentrated on breathing.

The parking lot wasn't as full as the last time and thinking of it the whole building was quieter now so probably nobody would notice him and ask stupid questions.

"Daaaad!" A boy about his age came around the corner shouting over his shoulder. "Come on!"

A few steps behind followed an older boy and then the parents came into view. Dad was struggling with two suitcases and Mom carried a baby. The family headed for a van not far from Dean's position. They were smiling and laughing and they were probably on vacation and were having the best time of their life. And the kids had a mom and a dad and nobody was dead.

Dean rested his chin on his knees, arms tightly around his legs and watched them through watery eyes till they drove away. They drove away and he sat there and had no mom and no dad and his little brother was too big and he was too small and everything was just wrong. Tears ran freely down his face now and he didn't bother to wipe them off.

Suddenly somebody crouched next to him.

"Hey, sweetie." A motherly voice said. "Don't cry."


	9. Chapter 9

"Hey, sweetie." A motherly voice said. "Don't cry."

Dean looked up to the woman who offered him a tissue. It took him a moment to place her face – the waitress from the diner. He ignored the tissue and wiped the tears with the heel of his hand from his face.

"Are you hurt?" She asked with that tone adults used on toddlers. Dean shook his head and looked in the other direction. The sun was coming down and the cars and the bushes on the other side of the lot were casting long shadows. With the wind in the branches it almost looked like they were hiding something. Dean wished he could hide in there like he had done when he tried to escape his "kidnappers". Just hide till this woman was gone. But not such luck. She shifted and then sat next to him. Not quite touching but too close for his comfort.

"I'm Linda." She said and waited for him to say his name.

"I shouldn't talk to strangers." He said instead still not looking at her. Something was moving over there, a cat or a raccoon maybe. A raccoon would be cool, if it came over and this woman saw it, maybe she'd scream and run away.

"That's right, you're a smart boy." Still with that tone. As if he was a retarded three-year-old. "But I'm not a stranger, I served you breakfast this morning. You remember that, don't you?"

As if that made her less a stranger. If that qualified to become a friend he had friends all over the country. But he didn't say it loud.

"Are you staying here with your parents?" She asked and the words hurt. Dean didn't know simple words could hurt that much, sticks and stones and all that crap. New tears filled his eyes.

"I saw …" She started and her eyes swept over his arm. Dean placed his other hand on the spot where he knew the bruise was. This wasn't good. "Did your daddy did that?" She finally asked.

"No." He wanted to scream it into her face but he only managed a pathetic whisper.

She opened her mouth to say more, trying to help him and Dean wanted to laugh but the laughter stuck in his throat and he couldn't get enough air. He didn't need that kind of help.

"Dean?" Suddenly Sam was behind him. Linda scrambled to her feed and backed off a step. Finally.

"Hi, I'm Linda Adams." She hold out a hand which Sam didn't take. Awkwardly she rubbed it on her jeans. "I work at the diner down the street and I served your son breakfast this morning. And when I walked home I saw him sitting here. Crying." She folded her arms over her chest watching Sam closely. During her little speech Dean had gotten to his feet too and was now standing next to Sam. Sam's hand dropped protectively on his shoulder. How his brother managed to look like he was not close to doubling over was beyond Dean. Last time he checked Sam had needed his help to cross the room. He still looked sick and he smelled of sweat and illness. Linda sniffed audible probably searching for a hint of alcohol and her eyes lingered on Sam's hand on Dean's shoulder. Sam's big hand.

"He didn't hurt me." Dean blurred out.

"You're hurt?" Instantly Sam's full attention was on Dean. "What happened?"

Dean gave him the play-along-look little Sammy would have understood while his mind was racing for a plausible lie. The group of bullies from his last school came to mind.

"These older boys." Looking down he dragged the tip of his shoe over the porch. "You know, Ted and his gang, they got a drop on me."

Sam knelt down in front of him so they were at eye level now both hands on Dean's shoulders. From the outside it must look like he was comforting Dean but he felt Sam's tremors and Dean was sure this grip was the only thing keeping Sam upright.

"I told you to stay away from them." Apparently big Sammy still understood and played along. "Did they hurt you bad?"

Dean shook his head. "Just a bruise." He revealed his arm so Sam could get a look.

"Oh, Dean." His shock was real. Out of the corner of his eye Dean caught the expression on Linda's face. Something shifted there. She made a noise in her throat which got her Sam's attention. Carefully Sam stood up.

"Look, I'm sorry." She wrung her hands. "I saw that bruise earlier at the diner and then I found your son crying."

Glancing Dean an apologizing look Sam opened his mouth. "Actually, Dean is my brother. We're in town for our father's funeral."

Dean recognized the words for the weapon they were, clearly used for making Linda feel guilty. And it worked. Linda blushed and opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of the water. The words hurt Dean nevertheless. Sam gave him a reassuring squeeze which didn't really helped.

But they got rid of Linda. Bubbling apologies she made a quick retreat.

Sam kept up the facade till the motel door shut behind them but Dean was ready to support him when his knees buckled. With a heavy thud Sam landed on the bed.

"I'm sorry." He said. "What I said to her …"

"I know." Dean cut him off. "You had to make her feel guilty so she won't call the police on us."

A weak smile formed on Sam's lips. "Didn't remember you were such a con-artist at the age of ten."

"Because you are a doofus six-year-old." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Let me see your arm."

"It's nothing." But he let Sam examine it closer. The fingers on his skin felt sweaty and hot, Sam was still running a fever.

"I did that, didn't I?" Sam spoke in a low tone. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry."

"You were pretty out of it." Dean shifted from one foot to the other. Sam hadn't done it on purpose, so it was nothing. He felt a bit sore but he could deal with that. Besides he felt more his torso than his arm. Absently he ran his free hand over the most throbbing point.

"Is there more?" Sam had noticed and tugged now with a frown at his sweatshirt.

"Hey." He slapped the big hand but his movement was far from smooth. Even a half conscious Sam noticed that.

"Take that off." A sharp order and Dean had the shirt over his head before he noticed that it was Sam speaking and not his dad. Because his dad would never bark any orders at him ever again.

"Oh, Dean. What happened to you?" Sam didn't touch him he just stared with big eyes at his abused body. The bruises were in full color now covering his chest and belly.

"Dean?" Sam pushed when Dean didn't answer. "Who did this?"

Dean couldn't meet his eye. Why couldn't Sam just give him back his sweatshirt and leave it?

"Dean? Did I …?" Sam swallowed hard. "How?"

"The seizures." He finally answered. "You were smashing your head at the headboard."

Sam just looked at him for a minute the wheels in his head clearly turning. In his current state it took him a while to figure it out.

"So you used your body as a buffer?" His expression unreadable. Dean just shrugged. "Can you get me the first aid kit?"

Glad to have something to do besides feeling awkward Dean did as he was told. The next thing he knew was sitting next to Sam on the bed and letting Sam massage a cream into his skin. The cream felt warm and soothing and his muscles relaxed under Sam's gentle touch.

"OK. Put this back on." Sam handed him the sweatshirt. "And take one of these." Dean took the pill Sam offered him not because the pain was that bad but to comfort his brother. Sam took two himself a clear sign that he was far from being fine. The following silence was disturbed by a loud grumble.

"Are you hungry? I can microwave the leftovers from our breakfast." Dean jumped at the opportunity to get away from the guilty look on Sam's face.

"Only if we share." Sam said and Dean could live with that. They ate on the bed because Sam was too weak to get to the table. Dean didn't really noticed what he put in his mouth, everything tasted like saw dust and felt like lead in his stomach.

By the time Dean set the tray aside Sam was already fast asleep. Unsure what to do next Dean just sat there next to his brother in the increasing darkness. Maybe he should get into his own bed. But there he would be alone with nothing but his thoughts.

Carefully – he didn't want to wake Sam – he curled up next to him. In his head he could see his father like he had seen him just before this nightmare started. His dad behind the wheel of the Impala, music blasting and little Sammy next to Dean in the backseat. Little sobs escaped his lips and his eyes were burning. Little Sammy and his dad were gone and he was alone.

Suddenly Sam reached out and pulled Dean closer. His back against Sam's warm chest and Sam's arm heavy around him Dean took a deep breath. He wasn't alone.

With a sigh Dean closed his eyes and fell asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

"Isn't this the cutest thing I've ever seen?" Somebody said.

Dean woke with a start, hand under the pillow searching for a weapon which wasn't there. Damn. He struggled to at least get up to face the intruder but he was still trapped under Sam's arm while his brother snored softly into Dean's ear.

"Dean, relax." The intruder said and stepped into his line of view but kept his distance, hands up in the universal gesture of I'm-not-here-to-hurt-you. "It's OK, it's just me."

Strangers in their motel room couldn't be good. But that man just stood there, waiting for something. And he looked at Dean like he didn't quite believe his eyes. Dean squinted but it was too dark to make out any details. Something about the beard and the trucker cap seemed familiar.

"Uncle Bobby?" He finally asked.

"Who did you expect, boy? Angelina Jolie?" The rough voice was strained with affection Dean didn't associate with his Uncle Bobby.

"Who?" Dean finally managed to wiggle his way out of Sam's hold.

"Doesn't matter." He turned on the lamp on the nightstand.

Eying the man closer Dean compared the image of the Uncle Bobby he knew with the man standing in front of him.

"You're old."

Bobby adjusted his cap. "And you are younger than I remember." They just stared at each other for a moment. "How's Sam?"

Dean half turned to his brother who was still dead to the world. Hopefully this was only the aftermath of the poison, no way he'd let his little brother grow up to be such a careless hunter. People entering their room should definitely let some instincts kick in. So just the effect of the poison.

"Tiered." Dean answered. "But he's fine." Then he frowned looking between Bobby and the door. "How did you get in?"

"You really should lock the door."

"Ohh." Speaking of careless hunters. Heat burned in his cheeks, hadn't he learned from the past? Everything could have sneaked in while they slept.

He looked Bobby straight in the eye ready to bear the consequences of his failure. "Sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

"Relax, boy." Bobby chuckled. "The last days weren't easy for you, I bet. Give yourself a break for once."

Dean didn't quite agree with that – after all it was his job to keep Sammy save – so he just stood there and waited for Bobby's next move. Who said nothing but couldn't stop staring at Dean.

"What?" Dean demanded when the stare became uncomfortable after a while.

"You are really ten." Bobby answered and readjusted his cap once again. If he didn't know better Dean would have said Bobby was nervous. Which was ridiculous, right?

"Did you figure that out by yourself?"

"Watch your mouth, boy." But he busted the stern expression with a big grin. "I stopped at the diner down the road, thought you might be hungry. Can you get the bags out of the car?"

Food sounded awesome and Dean was out of the door in a second. The bags were still warm and they smelled delicious. Dean's mouth watered. Eating hadn't been high on his to-do-list the last few days and after that encounter with Linda the waitress he had no intention to visit that diner ever again. When he returned to the room Bobby sat at the edge of Sam's bed his fingers on his wrist. It took Dean a second to realize what he was doing. Bobby took Sam's pulse.

Of course Bobby had to make sure that Sam was really fine and wouldn't just take Dean's word for that. Dean understood that but he couldn't shake off the feeling that he only had been sent out for the food to be out of the way.

Without a word he put the bags on the table.

"We should let him sleep." Bobby turned towards Dean. "We'll leave him something we can reheat for him later."

They ate in silence for a few minutes while they eyed each other. Dean wondered how he would look like as an adult. He'd seen the picture on the fake IDs he'd found but he still had trouble with the idea. However, that was the man Bobby was searching for in his features and Dean wondered if he found what he was looking for.

Bobby on the other hand had more salt than pepper in his beard and a few more wrinkles which gave him an even more gruff expression than Dean remembered.

"We didn't expect you before morning." Dean finally said.

"Possibly broke some speed limits and skipped a few hours of sleep." Bobby admitted with a warm smile. "Thought you boys could need a little help with the Quetzalcoatl. I would have taken a plane but I doubt they would let me on board with a dagger and the spears."

"Hey, Bobby." Came suddenly a hoarse whisper from the bed.

"Hey, yourself. How do you feel?"

"Tiered." Sam greeted him with a droopy smile. "Thanks for coming. Found a solution for our other little problem?" He asked with a nod in Dean's direction.

Dean knew it wasn't what Sam meant but he flinched when he was addressed as _our little problem_.

_Let's face it_, he thought hiding his face by pouring Sam some water, _I am a big problem_.

Sam had promised he'd never leave Dean. That they would stick together like they always had. But doubt never was far away.

"Like I said." Bobby gave Dean a quick glance. "The whole shrinking part was only a myth a few days ago. However, the legend also says that its magic dies with the Quetzalcoatl."

"So let's go and kill this thing." Sam threw back the covers and swung his legs out of bed. If it hadn't been for Dean who was at his brother's side in a heartbeat Sam would have kissed the floor.

"You're not going anywhere." Bobby said from Sam's other side holding him at the shoulder.

Panting Sam nodded. "Yeah, no hunting today." He admitted his defeat. His whole body was trembling Dean could feel it under his fingers. And he was still to warm and clammy for Dean's liking.

"How about a trip to the bathroom?" Without waiting for an answer Sam pushed himself to his feet. Dean wanted to adjust his grip so he could help him like he had done before but Bobby beat him to it. Of course, Bobby was bigger and stronger, he was the better one to help Sammy. Dean backed off. They didn't need him.

But Sam surprised them both. "Thanks, Bobby. But Dean and I are well-rehearsed with this." And he shoved Bobby's hand from his arm and reached for Dean. Together they did the well known shuffle dance to the bathroom. Dean noticed that Sam didn't quite lean into him as much as he had done the times before, apparently his strength was coming back.

Bobby hovered in the background the whole time but didn't interfere. After a few minutes Sam laid down on the bed again, exhausted but with a satisfied smile on his face.

"So." Bobby took a seat at the table and spread his hands in an expectant gesture. "What do we know about this thing?"

Dean showed him the papers while Sam recounted the events of the hunt. Hearing it for the first time Dean listened closely. It was kinda like the stories he used to tell Sammy before bedtime, those where he inserted their names like King John and Prince Sammy and the brave knight Dean who slayed the dragon, of course. But it was different when he knew this wasn't just a story, this had happened. He – or better his adult version – had fought face to face with the monster and when it had bitten Sam he'd put it to flight with some well aimed shots. Too bad bullets didn't work on that sucker.

"This will kill it?" Carefully Dean probed the dagger's edge. It was made of some black stone but it was sharp like a razor. Two spears with heads of the same material were leaning at the wall.

"Obsidian." Bobby nodded. "Put this into some vital part like the heart or the head and it'll do the trick."

Assuming that the Quetzalcoatl like other snakes needed the warmth of the sun to get its body warmed up, Bobby decided to go after it in the afternoon.

"Wouldn't it be better to hunt it while its still cold and slow?" Dean asked while he tucked the sleeping Sammy in. He had lasted for over half an hour, that was a new record.

"Probably." Bobby admitted. "But it'll most likely hole up somewhere never to be found. My chances are better to catch it sunbathing. It's wounded and thanks to you two I know what to expect."

"Can I come with you?" Dean just had to ask. He knew the chances were slim but he had to try, right?

"Somebody has to stay with Sam." Bobby played the Sammy card and there was nothing Dean could say against that. Sam maybe was an adult now but he still needed help to even get a glass of water or to use the bathroom. Watch out for Sammy, he could hear his father's voice in his mind but he didn't want to go there so he shoved that thought deep down.

"Besides, these spears are nearly as tall as you are, I doubt they are handy weapons for you."

Dean nodded. He didn't like it but Bobby had a point.

It was still early so Bobby decided to get a few hours sleep. With both men sleeping Dean had nothing to do. So for once he did what a normal ten-year-old would do in the early morning with the adults still asleep. He watched some cartoons.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean watched cartoons. First he sat on the floor Indian-style with his elbows on his knees. After a while the hunched position got uncomfortable for his stiff and sore torso and he glanced up at Sam's bed. It would be more comfy up there stretched out with his head propped up against the headboard. And he could have a close eye on Sammy. Just to make sure he was alright.

Carefully Dean settled next to Sam who didn't even stir. The remote in one hand and with the other one absently playing with Sam's hair – this way he'd notice if the fever climbed up again, why else would he do it? – Dean let out a breath and relaxed a bit. And when Sam's arm landed across his stretched out legs he didn't move because if it made Sam feel held and warm and loved who was he to deny that, right?

Watching TV really showed him how different this time was from what he knew. The motel room was like every other he had ever been in, the current one possibly hadn't changed since the seventies, same for the diner. The cars in the parking lot looked slightly futuristic but they couldn't fly and they still had four wheels. What really hit him were the commercials. Cell phones and laptops – so that was that thingy he had found among Sam's stuff and he still had no idea what it did – were the ones he had physical evidence off. Other thing seemed just too weird to be real. Often it weren't even the thing they tried to sell which stunned him. People changing into other people, people flying, solid thing tuning into water or dust or just change, talking animals and it didn't look fake. He was pretty sure it was fake but hell if he knew how they did it. It was kind of relieving every time the break was over and the cartoon started again. Not a show he knew and the drawings were astonishing good, far better than he thought they could ever make it, but he still could clearly tell it was drawn.

After a few hours Bobby woke up. Dean didn't notice till Bobby stood next to the bed, carefully peeling away the sleeve of Sam's t-shirt to get to the dressing on the wound beneath. As soon as Dean did notice he tried to get out of the embarrassing position he was in. But it was too late, Bobby had to be blind to didn't see him cuddling with his brother.

"Stay where you are." Bobby said and if he smiled behind his beard Dean couldn't tell. "He's laying perfect for me to check his wound." With sure and experienced movements he changed the dressing. "Looks good. No infection and it's healing nicely." Dean glanced at the wound and had to agree. The biggest gash was hold together by three stitches and he couldn't help but wonder who put them there. Most likely his adult self.

The treatment finally woke Sam. They untangled with a minimum of embarrassment and Dean smoothed over it by fetching his brother water and the painkillers.

"You?" Sam shook the bottle of pills with a questioning look.

"'M fine." And he was. A little stiff because he hadn't moved much the last few hours but nothing he could really describe as pain.

"You hurt, boy?" Along with Sam Bobby eyed him head to toe trying to figure out where he was hurt.

"'M fine." He repeated.

"OK." Sam set the bottle on the nightstand. "But if you need one don't hesitate."

Bobby opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by Sam: "Dean, could you bring me the map and the notes? We should go through this while I'm actual awake."

Dean expected them to stick their heads together and completely forget about him. That, however, was the way his dad did – had done – these things. Keep Sammy occupied while the adults plan the hunt.

But Sam wasn't John. To his surprise Dean found himself sitting next to Sam on the bed with a marker in his hand, putting an X everywhere Sam pointed at. Sightings of the snake-monster, where the bodies had been found – if you can call half digested bones bodies – and finally where that thing had attacked him and Sam. Dean was glad they left the pictures out, the quick glance he had gotten of them were enough, thank you very much. It nearly flipped his stomach to know the victims were kids, he didn't need to see pictures of their remains.

"So my best shot will be in this area." Bobby tapped at the map.

"I should come with you." Sam said but didn't make an attempt to get out of the bed. They all knew how that would end.

Sam made a face. Dean knew the feeling, being left behind, waiting, hoping. It had to be worse for Sam because he was a hunter now, he was used to be out there.

"Hey, I was optimistic and brought the second spear for you." Bobby stood up and grabbed one of the weapons. "But we can't wait any longer." Nobody disagreed. It still sucked.

So Dean helped Bobby to gather his things while his uncle stabbed the air first with one and than with the other spear, trying to figure out which one lay better in his hands. Decision made he set one aside and took the other one to the car. With the dagger in his belt he was ready to go. Dean followed him outside and nearly tripped over a fallen over trashcan. Damn racoons.

"Watch out for that brother of yours." Bobby ruffled Dean's hair.

"Always do."

"I know." Bobby climbed into the car. "Don't worry, I'll be back soon."

"Yeah, that's what Dad always said." His chest felt too tight. "Until he didn't come back."

"Dean, your dad …"

"Sam told me." Dean interrupted him. "He'll never come back." His eyes were watering again and wasn't that pathetic.

"Dean." Bobby was half back out of the car.

"Just come back. OK?"

"OK."

Dean nodded and ran back into the room. Behind him he heard Bobby driving off. Inside he slumped face first into the free bed. It smelled like Uncle Bobby now, like motor oil and dust and whiskey.

"Dean?" Came Sam's voice from the other bed. "You alright?"

"Thought you were asleep." He sat up and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Bobby's a good hunter. He'll find it and he'll kill it." Sam sounded confident.

"And then I'll be grown-up again." He wasn't so sure he liked the idea.

"I hope so." Sam propped himself up on one elbow and looked him straight in the eye. "This has to be scary for you. I won't lie to you. Shit happens and in our life a lot shit happens. But there are good things too. Things to remember. The time with dad. Your first hunt. Your first girl." He smiled his eyes dreamy with memory. "Believe me you'd miss something if you don't remember Jane Williams. Dude, that was the worst case of too much information in my life." He paused for a moment. "But most of the time it was just us, growing up together. You being there for me. I don't want to be the only one to remember that."

"You really want him back." _You don't want me, you want him._

"Dean, what happened to you wasn't right. Come here." Seconds later Dean found himself in a tight hug. "I love you." Sam whispered into his ear. "I'll always love you. It doesn't matter how old you're, we are brothers nothing will ever change that. We stick together and we watch out for each other, like we always do."

Dean melted into Sam's chest. He didn't know who he'd be at the end of the day but it didn't matter anymore. He'd be Sam's brother, that was enough.

Sam's arms started to slip and Dean eased him into a laying position. He was fast asleep before his head hit the pillow.

"Dude, how can you sleep that much?" Dean shook his head and adjusted the blanket around his brother.

With nothing else to do he turned the TV on. It was at least a distraction from his thoughts.

Some time later, he had no idea how long, a knock at the door startled him. With an "Uncle Bobby" on his lips he opened the door but it wasn't Bobby who stood there on the porch.

"Hi." Linda the waitress said.

Dean's first impulse was to slam the door into her face. Instead he asked: "What do you want?" Looking over his shoulder he made sure Sam was still asleep.

"I'm sorry." She said. "For yesterday. I thought … I saw … and I thought …" She broke up fingers digging into a box she was holding.

"My brother is sleeping, he's been sick. I don't want to wake him." Dean stepped out of the room but left the door behind him half open just in case.

"I noticed. That he's sick, I mean." She didn't look him in the eye. "Look, I just wanted to apologize. I brought you some pie." She offered him the box but before he even had a chance to take it she dropped it.

"Did you see that?" With horror she stared over his head, eyes wide and a panicked look on her face. "The...there..." She pointed with her finger but Dean was already running. And stopped cold in the door to their room.

The feathered snake was on Sam's bed, hoovering over his still sleeping brother.


	12. Chapter 12

Time froze. For a moment everything was quiet. The snake easily doubled Sam's size, head held high and the bottom half curled on the bed cobra-style. The evening sun highlighted the snake's long feather-like scales, black and dark red. Gleaming eyes fixated on the sleeping Sam.

Then Linda screamed. Sam's eyes shot open and the snake darted down with bare fangs. Instead of Sam's throat it got a mouthful of pillow while Sam rolled out of the bed and landed on the floor. His legs still tangled in the covers he fought to get away from the monster and its snapping mouth.

Dean stood still frozen. Memory overlapped with what he saw. In his mind he saw the shtriga feeding on little Sammy while his eyes told him there was a giant snake trying to eat big Sam's face off. Eyes on the monster Dean reached for a weapon and half expected to find a shotgun when his fingers curled around the shaft of the spear still leaning against the wall where Bobby had left it.

"Get off my brother!" Dean screamed and grabbed the spear with both hands. It threw him off balance – that thing was heavy – and he stumbled two steps towards the snake and the still struggling Sam. With the snake pinning one end of the covers on the bed Sam had no chance to get his legs free. He reached for the next thing he could use as a weapon and when the snake came after him he hit it with the water bottle from the nightstand. The snake hissed – most likely more surprised than hurt – and snapped at Sam again.

This time Dean was there. He could barely hold the spear up and there was not enough force behind his attack to penetrate the skin. The obsidian head ruffled the feather-like scales as it scratched over the skin but it got Dean the snake's attention. An annoyed fling with its tail and Dean hit the wall. He got the wind knocked out of his lungs, his vision grayed on the edges and for a horrible second he was sure he'd pass out.

"Dean!" His brothers voice startled him enough to shake off the dizziness. Most of it. There were suddenly two snakes coming after him and he had no idea which one was the real thing and which was just his double vision.

"C'mon, bitch!" He heard himself screaming and when the snakes' heads came close – all gleaming eyes and mouth and teeth and venom – he rammed the blunt end of the spear in the edge where wall and floor met and aimed the sharp end in the middle between the two snakes he was seeing. The impact ripped the shaft out of his hands but at least he had hit something. It screamed in agony and hot blood sprayed all over Dean. Then the snake crashed down on him.

Dean tasted blood and feathers and he couldn't breath. Panicked he tried to struggle free but the weight of the dead monster pinned his whole body down. And he couldn't breath. He was going to die. His lungs burned but he couldn't draw in a single breath. Blood filled his mouth but no air.

"Dean!" Suddenly Sam was there. The weight lifted and he could breath. Sort of. Coughing blood he curled on his side, caught between the need to get air in and blood out.

"Dean? Are you okay? Dean?" Sam sounded far away but his big hands were right there, stroking the hair out of his face, wiping the blood from his lips.

"Not my blood." Dean choked out between two coughs.

"Are you hurt?" Sam's fingertips already ghosted over his scalp and spine searching for any damage.

"Head hurts." Dean admitted. "Chest."

The hands were under his sweatshirt now probing his rips.

"Don't think anything broken." Sam finished his examination. "But your bruises got bruises now. Did you pass out? Nausea? Double vision?" Hands on his cheeks Sam hold Dean's head in position while he looked him straight in the eye.

"Saw two snakes but it's better now." When Sam let go of his head Dean looked at the thing he killed. It was one snake and the spear went right through the mouth and back out at the base of its head. Dean had no idea how he had managed to do that. One hell of a lucky shot, he guessed.

Sam wanted to say something but he was cut off by Linda.

"Are you hurt? We need some help here!" She screamed. The sound pierced right through Dean's head. "What the hell just happened here? What is this? Is it dead? Are you hurt? I'm calling 911. Oh, god. What is this thing? It's dead, right? Blood, so much blood. It's everywhere."

With every word her voice climbed an octave till it was just an incoherent shriek of nothingness.

"Linda." Sam had left Dean's site and was now holding Linda at her shoulders. "It's okay. It's over. Everything is going to be okay."

The screaming stopped for which Dean was thankful but she was still panting. However, when the dead snake started to decay the screaming was back on high volume. More fascinated than disgusted Dean watched as the body dried and crumbled and finally turned into dust.

_At least we don't have to care about the body_, he heard his dad's voice in his mind and couldn't help but smile. His first kill. It felt kinda good. But he could do without the foul taste of blood in his mouth.

The next few minutes went by in a blur. Dean remembered Sam rushing him to pack their stuff, something he could do in his sleep and he assumed he just did because the next thing he remembered was sitting in the Impala with Sam behind the wheel and the motel in the rear mirror.

How Sam had gotten rid of Linda Dean didn't know and at that moment he didn't care. Cars with flashing lights and sirens came their way and Sam just kept driving.

With a white-knuckled grip at the steering wheel Sam squinted against the sun low on the horizon. Sweat pearled on his forehead and he had blood on his hands and clothes. Dean on the other hand looked like he had bathed in blood. Oh yeah, it'd be fun if they were pulled over. But Sam drove carefully and it was getting dark so maybe they were lucky. And hopefully they would get the strains out of the seats later.

Dean didn't want to distract Sam – he shouldn't drive in his condition – so he sank into the seat and closed his eyes for a moment. He didn't asked where they were going. Away was their destination.

Thinking about what happened it hit him cold. He'd done it again. The same stupid mistake.

"I'm sorry." Dean said and sank deeper into his seat. "I went out. Just for a second, I'm sorry." The voice of his father echoed in his mind: _I told you not to leave this room. I told you not to let him out of your sight!_

Dean stared down at his hands in his lap, he couldn't look Sam in the eye. Afraid to see the way Sam would look at him. Different.

But Sam surprised him once again. "You're sorry for what? Saving my life?" Sam shook his head. "It wasn't your fault, you couldn't know. It was probably lurking around for a day or two, waiting for a chance to jump us. You did good. Really good." And Sam smiled at him. He looked beyond tired and ready to pass out but he smiled like he meant it.

Dean thought about it for a moment. He couldn't have known. Or could he? When he had spoken with Linda the first time there had been something in the bushes, hiding in the shadows. And something had toppled over the trashcan. He had assumed it was a raccoon but he hadn't made sure.

"Sam, I ..." He started to confess but Sam didn't let him finish the sentence.

"No, Dean." It came out harsh. "Not your fault. You hear me? Whatever you think you should have done different, it was not your fault. You couldn't know. You killed it. You saved my life. That's what you did. I'm proud of you. And so should you."

"But ..."

"No buts." Sam was trembling now. It cost him every bit of energy he had left to keep the car on the road that much was obvious so Dean kept his mouth shut to prevent a crash.

They drove for nearly an hour before Sam admitted that he couldn't go any further. Sitting in the car Sam washed his hands with water from a bottle and hid his bloodied clothes under a jacket. Now he looked decent enough to get a room. As soon as he would have gathered the strength to get out of the car. How he was still awake Dean had no idea.

"Shouldn't I change?" Dean asked into the silence of the car.

"What?"

"Uncle Bobby said the magic would end with the snake-thing." Dean explained while Sam stared at him wide-eyed as if he was speaking in tongues. They needed a place to crash and fast, Dean realized. If Sam passed out here in a damn parking lot, Dean didn't want to think about the consequences.

"Let's figure that out in the morning." Sam opened the door and got out of the car. It took him ages but eventually he came back with the keys.

They took shower in turns – while Sam was in the bathroom Dean stayed close to the door just in case – and then Sam massaged the cream into Dean's new bruises on his chest before he handed him a t-shirt which Dean could wear like a tunic. His other clothes were beyond saving and he had no idea what to wear in the morning but he couldn't care less at the moment. He did care about where to sleep. He'd like to share a bed with Sam like they had done before but he didn't dare to ask. He'd sound like a baby.

"Here take one." Sam shook three painkillers into his palm, two for himself and one for Dean who didn't hesitate to take it. His head and chest were killing him.

Then Sam tucked him in and without a word climbed into the bed behind him. With a sigh Dean relaxed, his back against Sam's chest and Sam's arm around him holding him tight without putting pressure on his injuries.

"Thanks." He whispered still baffled by the way Sam just knew what he needed.

"You're welcome." Sam answered already half asleep. Dean drifted into sleep as well when Sam suddenly spoke again. "Think we should call Bobby and tell him the monster's dead?"


	13. Epilogue

Dean woke up in steps. First thing he noticed was his head. It hurt. Scratch that, it was killing him. He wasn't sure if he was hung over or had been in a fight or maybe both. The bad taste in his mouth had the distant linger of blood in it, which could point towards the fight but that alone didn't rule out the other possibility.

The second thing he noticed was that even breathing hurt. So he probably had been involved in a fight at some point. Flashes of a giant snake came to mind. A hunt? He remembered a spear way to big for him and did he run away from some kidnappers? A weird dream in which he had been a kid again but had to take care of an adult Sam. Okay, definitive alcohol indicated so one point for the hungover theory.

The third thing he noticed was that he wasn't alone in the bed. A smile ghosted over his lips. Must have been a good night. Too bad he didn't remember any of it. Normally he didn't stay till morning so he must have been pretty much out of it. Dean shifted a little. His back was pressed against a chest. He frowned. It wasn't soft in the right places. And the arm around him had a little bit too much hair on it.

Dean froze. He hadn't been that much out of it or had he? Shit.

The guy behind him was snoring softly into his ear. So maybe Dean could get out of the bed and out of this place without waking him up and save the last bit of dignity he had left. No way he'd stay and tell this guy it had been all a huge mistake.

Carefully he grabbed the man's wrist to lift the arm and slip out. But he stopped mid-movement. He knew this hand. Knew it better than his own. Dean swallowed hard but he couldn't get rid of the lump in his throat. Another little shift told him that Sam was fully clothed with shirt and sweatpants he usually wore for the night. Thank god for small mercies.

"Em, Sam?" He cleared his throat. "Why the hell are we cuddling?"

***end***


End file.
